Bettie Davis raccoon eyes with assorted gunk
The Myth of the Remote Cabin

Blank slate

Wrote this... oh, a couple of years ago now, but this feeling still creeps up on me.           - wg

 

We are seers in the midst…

this age of prophesized age obsolescence,

as our slouching fingers chirp and twitter,

pecking out soul songs endlessly.

While Tiresias, with his digitalized eyes,

Shouts across the ages,

“You all think you’re the beast and Bethlehem rolled into one.”

 

But these coded strings of mutability transfix us,

We rough puppeteers,

Click, clicking, through the remote glow,

Validation… it is so close now.

A representative stumbles forth, defiant,

orgasms twice upon the screen and collapses.

We stretch our arms out for the apocryphal babe.

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